Oblivion
by Xechasate
Summary: Concerning last thoughts, and the 57th HUNGER GAMES! This is origionally a oneshot, but I am wondering if I want to do a second chapter...
1. The 59th Hunger Games

**This is just a quick oneshot that I had floating around in my head. Thought it might make a good short story.**

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My plate rises. Time seems to slow down. Soon, too soon, I am at the surface. The first thing I see white. Everything is white. Cold, hard walls surround me. And all of my fellow Tributes are dressed in black. The Cornucopia is black, too. I twist my head around to see behind me. A door, standing out starkly against the pure white, is beckoning me. I count quickly. There are forty-eight of these doors, and only twenty-four tributes.

Thirty-seven seconds till the gong goes off and my inevitable death. My mentor said not to think negatively. I wondered if she was crazy. How could you not be negative? Twenty-three people die. One person lives. If my mentor's nightmares are any witness of the PTSD, that life isn't very much of an existence.

Twenty-one seconds. I know I won't survive the Bloodbath if I go in towards the Cornucopia. But what choice do I have? No food or weapons- that's like a death sentence. Oh wait- I'm in the Hunger Games. The Games themselves are death sentences. Even if I survive, I'm sure to die a horrible death at the hands of the Careers or a mutt.

Fifteen seconds till my bomb is no longer active. Fifteen seconds till the murder of twenty-three innocent children begins. Fifteen seconds till a miserable existence if you survive the Bloodbath and the first day. Fifteen seconds till my life is over- even if I survive. Even if I am crowned Victor.

Eight seconds. I'll quite likely never see my family again. Will they miss me? The odd child, the one who danced in the meadow, spoke gibberish, and sang nonsense? Do they even want me to live?

Three seconds. I brace myself. Here in the Arena it is kill or be killed. I will probably be killed. How would I survive? I'm from an Outer District. My District is poor, and we have no Training Academy. I do not stand a chance against a trained killer, much less six.

The gong goes off. An insane Tribute off to my left yells "Let the 57th Hunger Games begin!" and runs toward the Cornucopia. It startles everyone, but not for long. Soon the Careers are swarming the Cornucopia, grabbing anything they want. I am frozen on my plate. My District partner is running towards me. He knocks me off my pedestal and runs toward a door behind me. The number on the door is 14. His luck number. The door next to it is 13.

An arrow's whistle forces us to duck. Immediately, we are up and running. Something explodes between us, and we are knocked apart. I run through Door 13, and Malik runs through Door 14. "Regroup!" Malik yells. I nod and keep running.

I dash through another door and stop. The whole room is a black and white checkerboard. I cannot tell where the end of the room is. Is it my imagination, or is the room moving?

Sure enough, the floor is dipping and rising. It's like standing on water, trying to keep your balance when it is fluctuating underneath you. I start sliding to the bottom of the room. Everything has morphed to take on the shape of the inside of a top. I have a bad feeling about this...

The room starts spinning. Faster and faster, round and round, till the black and white squares mix and become grey in my eyes.

Now the top-shaped room is shrinking. Soon it will crush me and I will be able to do nothing about it.

The sides are pressing my bones, making them creak. Soon a crunching fills the air along with my screams. I am barely able to see the blood coloring the walls, changing the whirling horrors from grey to an odd burgundy. Soon I am too weak to scream. The walls suddenly part, level out, and I am in the middle of this room of torture.

Malik crashes in through a door. I cannot tell him that it is a trap. Soon he is by my side, and the floor has not moved. Odd.

He is breathing heavily. His hand touches my shapeless, crushed one. "'So'kay. I'm here, it'll be alright... Don't leave me! Please!"

I sigh, a painful rattling sound. He looks up, hopeful. "No," I say. "Re... Remember me. Don't let them forget."

He nods, and I let go of life. The cannon sounds. The arm extends. I am raised into oblivion.

Later, the lights grow dim and it seems to be night. On each ceiling, in every room, the anthem plays. The faces show. Ninth in the lineup is the face of the girl who got crushed, the girl who did not want to be forgotten. Her name flashes. She was called Amphorae. She was only 13. How could we condone this violence? This crime against humanity? Must it go on forever?

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**And... The end. Hope you enjoyed. Please R&R!**


	2. The 31st Hunger Games

**Don't own the Hunger Games. Victor Susan Collins does, and I'm not about to fight with her.**

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The last thing I see before my plate begins to rise is my stylist crying. I wonder what it is like to have to go through this every year. If I was a Capitolite, I certainly would not want to be a stylist... or an Escort... or a Gamemaker. Gamemakers have it the worst; if they don't please the President with the Arena, they're dead. At least Escorts have it easier than the Gamemakers.

Finally, my head rises above the ground. I look around in awe. We appear to be in a factory- I should know, because I'm from District 3. Conveyor belts are all around us, and the buzz of the machines sounds like home.

There are forty-one seconds left till utter chaos. Forty-one seconds till I can leave my plate. I, unlike many others, have not given up on life. I, unlike many before me, want to survive. The odds, however, are not in my favor.

I look more closely at the Cornucopia. There are no weapons at the mouth, leaning against the sides, or scattered around. Only backpacks, water, and food... Lots of food. Where are the weapons?

Twenty-seven seconds. I see the girl from my district quivering on her plate. If she doesn't stop, she might fall off... the explosion rocks the Cornucopia, but no-one else falls.

Nine seconds... Eight...Seven...Six...Five...Four...Three...Two... One!

I run to the first two backpacks and latch onto them. I see no weapons, so I run away. I'm back to my plate before most of the other Tribute reach the Cornucopia.

I run past my plate and by the other Tributes who didn't even enter the Bloodbath. I turn swiftly around a stack of boxes and next to a conveyor belt. Huddling down, I examine the contents of a box, looking for anything useful. I find only packing peanuts.

Suddenly, the conveyor belt behind me hums to life. Startled, I jump forward- and fall down a trapdoor that has been left open.

I am deposited gently (freaking out, these _are_ the Hunger Games, after all, so gently is weird) on a pile of pillows about ten feet away from a wickedly evil-looking machine. I stand up slowly, not wanting to trip any possible sensors and get myself killed. Suddenly, the actual lights flicker on. Apparently the lights that were on before were only (let me count) one-sixth of the lights down here. Now the underground room is well lit, like the innovations room back in Three. I can see every detail of this strange machine, and it looks like a really fancy, computerized forge.

An AI voice suddenly sounds through the room. "Hello, District Three Male Parker DelVani. You have entered the Weapon Forge. Please state your weapon of choice, along with your measurements. A measuring tape will be presented shortly."

I stare in awe at the machine. "So you can give me any weapon I want?" I ask incredulously.

"That is correct," states the AI flatly. "There will be, however, a maximum of five different weapons for you to take away. Try to take any more than the maximum limit, and the weapon will self-destruct. You will be destroyed with it. Also, you may not request any firearms, bombs, or high-powered laser devices. Now, please choose your weapons."

I am still in awe of this prospect. After I get my weapons, I can probably reprogram this computer so it does not allow any Career Tributes any weapons- that would be awesome!

I turn to the machine. "May I have a set of twenty throwing knives? Because throwing knives are only one type of weapon, so I should be able to receive a large amount of throwing knives."

The machine beeped and whirred, as though trying to process my request. As if to confirm my hunch, the AI responded, "Computing. Computing," in a monotone.

All of a sudden, the AI stated that "This request has passed regulations. Twenty throwing knives. What specificity? Stars, double-bladed, single-bladed, equal balance, heavy tip, or heavy hilt?"

I answered quickly. "Ten stars, five tips, and ten double bladed, equally balanced knives."

The AI again responded. "Fifty-nine seconds till delivery. Please wait patiently."

The great forge-like machine started to whir, beep, tick, and get hot. Sixty seconds later, I was holding twenty razor-sharp throwing knives.

I looked up. "May I have a crossbow, and oh, say, twenty arrows?"

The AI responded immediately this time. "Crossbow, one weapon. Allowed." I sighed in relief. Then, the AI continued. "Twenty arrows, four weapons. Not allowed. Please choose a different amount of arrows."

My face fell. "Fifteen arrows?"

"That would compute as five weapons, and the maximum you are allowed to have. Are you certain of this option?"

"No!" I shouted. "Ten arrows and a ninjata- a short sword like a katana, but nowhere near as curved!"

"Is this your final request?"

"Can you make food, too?"

"No."

"Then yes, that is my final request."

The AI cannot even give me food? How stupid is that?

"One-hundred forty-nine seconds."

I waited. And waited. And waited. Finally, the time was up and I had my weapons. Now I could leave. I headed towards the door on the other side of the pillow-pile where I had been origionally deposited. Swinging open the door was a piece of cake. Soon, I would be the Victor, after I had beaten all the other Tributes. Soon, I would head home, finally able to see my family again!

I turned the corner, and slammed into the Careers. Literally. I had collided with the stomach of the District 4 male (wow, he's the leader this year? District 4 is NEVER in charge!).

I took a step back. And another. And another. Then I turned and ran. It did me no good, though, because the scrawny girl from One caught me and hauled me back to her leader.

"What do we have here?" he asked, amused. "A tribute who runs even though he knows he will die?"

"I'm not afraid of you," I snarl, plunging a throwing knife through his eye and into his skull. He screams and collapses on the ground, twitching. A cannon goes off, and I grin maliciously.

"Watch it! He's armed," comes the cry. The girl from One isn't as weak as she looks. She twists her arm around my neck into a choke hold, but doesn't tighten. Is she that stupid?

She isn't. As soon as she does so, the girl from Two comes over and pulls all the weapons off of my person. "Isn't this cute?" she croons, holding my token. It's the little flower charm my little sister gave me when she said goodbye. I promised to keep it safe, but I guess that won't happen.

"It sickens me," growled the girl from Four (seriously, why aren't the guys doing anything?). "Give me a knife."

After Two hands Four a knife, Four advances on me slowly. "I think you will suffer," she hisses. "Then again, you managed to kill a Career, which in itself is pretty impressive. Maybe you should be rewarded. Problem is, I don't believe in rewards. So I'll just kill you the same way you killed Dern..." Here she shoves the knife into my eye. My vision turns red, and I feel the knife penetrate the back of my eye socket. The last thing I hear is the girl's demented hiss. "What was the old saying? Oh yes... An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth..."

Everything goes black, and I know this is the end.

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**You like? I think I might do another one...**


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